Distinctly Montana Magazine

"And this world, Margie, is just like that. She's the yarn. She knits us up, connects us, holds us together" FALL | 2 0 1 3 14 I told her what the CCD sisters had said. The Mother of God, they had called her. "But I have always thought of her as the mother of all creation." "Yes, Margie, I feel the same, that there is one mother for all living things. We call her Káalixaalia [Old Woman], and she never stops giving birth." I looked around us and of course it was true. The prairie, which to my unaccustomed eyes had initially seemed so stingy with its beauties, was almost unfathomable in its abundance of animal, vegetable and mineral offerings—the soil, the stones, the grasses and the occasional trees, the plants and their roots, the prairie dogs, birds, snakes, antelope, and deer, the insects, the river and the cattails. "All of it just keeps unfurling out of her, always," she said, "so long," she added, "as we care for her and what she births." Granma looked hot and out of breath— partly, I thought, because our subject so excited her. She drew a wrist across her damp forehead. "Think of this: if people had never started viewing animals as something other, as strangers, as below themselves on some"—she paused—"some imaginary ladder, than there would be no reason today for you and your friends to try to save them or fight for their rights. But people did forget that they and the animals—along with everything else—are so interconnected." "You mean," I said, "like all of a piece? Like stars and tobacco, or the moon and plums?" "Yes! All these lives—from the littlest plants to the biggest people—are knitted together. It's just the same as what I do with my yarn, you see? I make a sweater for a baby. It has a DISTINCTLY MONTANA Gal body, it has arms, it has a hood, it has a collar— all these parts, and I make it all with one long, long strand. Yes, I knit it up. "And this world, Margie, is just like that. She's the yarn. She knits us up, connects us, holds us together. That's why we're never alone, never separate from each other, or from anything that lives." We walked in silence for a few minutes. "Of course, nowadays, even among most Indians, I'm kind of a freak." Granma laughed. "There's not enough connection with the animals or the plants around the rez today. My son and I, we're not perfect, but we try to keep some of the old traditions. What sorts of things were you doing in your group, honey?" "Well, some of it was kind of silly, to be honest…" I hesitated, thinking of how we'd released the birds from Azar's pet store, liberated lobsters from restaurant tanks, and dumped purple paint on fur coats. I knew how inconsequential those acts would seem to most people, yet my heart had been in all of them. I told Granma about some of our exploits. "It really meant something to you, didn't it?" "Yeah," I said. "It really did." We reached a thicket of tangly trees adorned with hundreds of scarlet jewels. "Here, oh my," Granma murmured, "these look good, don't they?"

• Cover